


The Respectable Pirate

by Shoutitfromthehills



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Captain Holmes, Gen, Mycroft Pan, Peter Pan - Freeform, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoutitfromthehills/pseuds/Shoutitfromthehills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x01. Sherlock and Mycroft roleplay in their younger years. All fear the mighty Captain Holmes and his rival Mycroft Pan!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Respectable Pirate

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft is 16. Sherlock is 6-7. I took liberties with creating Sherlock's childhood, including parent's personalities and whatnot,  
> Of course I had to write something with Mycroft's "pirate" line, and this is what came out of 2 hours and a lot of soda.  
> Also, as always, I own none of the characters.

“Come on, Mycroft! Don’t be such a puss!” Mycroft looked up from the chaise lounge where he was lying, to see his brother, annoying little Sherlock, dressed in what looked to be Mycroft’s shirt with a belt tied around his waist and Father’s rapier in his hand. 

“Don’t let Mum here you use that language, or you’ll feel that sword across your backside. And no, there is absolutely no way I’m doing anything with you while you’re dressed like that.”

“Don’t worry, I have something for you to wear as well!” Sherlock threw Mum’s green dress at him, The Dress, and pulled out a green construction paper hat and ran behind the couch, forcing it on to Mycroft’s head before grabbing his own pirate hat off the floor where he had thrown it on to the floor.

“What the blood-” Mycroft ripped the hat from his head and pushed the dress off of him. “Put that back in Mother’s closet, before you get something a lot worse than a beating. That dress is worth more than your life.”

“Oh come on, Dad has another sword, you’re just worried that I, Captain Holmes, am a better swordsmen than you.” Sherlock swung the sword with all the practice of his four years in fencing training.

“Ok, first of all,    
Sherley   
, I have exams to study for, which unlike whatever it is you do all day, is actually important. And secondly, I had to study fencing for 10 years, so any combat of skills would just be mean-spirited, and I don’t want to deal with your waterworks today.”

“Yes, but now all you do is sit and study and kiss up to Father, and I think you’ve traded exceeding swordsmanship for an exceeding ability to live a sedentary, high-calorie life, Mycroft Pan.”

“God Sherlock, grow up.” Mycroft grabbed his book where he had dropped it.

“You’re doing it wrong, Mycroft Pan!” 

“Oh for god’s sake Sherlock, I don’t have time to deal with your-” Mycroft looked down to see Sherlock pointing the rapier at his throat. “Really? We’re going to do this?”

Sherlock merely cocked an eyebrow.

Mycroft dreaded when the boy reached legal age and was set loose on the world.

They stood there for a few seconds in a stalemate, Mycroft quickly assessing the quickest and easiest way to escape Sherlock’s blade and grab the one across the drawing room with enough time to trap Sherlock in the same way that he is trapped currently, Sherlock watching every movement.

This was their game. 

Distract him-pillow to the face. Deflect blade- close book over it and twist. One arm to his  forearm and the other around his wrist. Push down on his arm while pulling up on the wrist. Sword will dislodge, let go of forearm and catch. Chances of success: 95%. Time until completion: 23 seconds.

“So, Pan? What say you?” Sherlock waved the rapier around in front of Mycroft’s face, giving him just enough of a window to kick up the pillow and hit it into Sherlock’s face, grab the book behind him and kneel down, snapping the book around the base of the blade and twisting, pushing Sherlock’s arm up and wrist down, grabbing the falling sword before Sherlock could recover, and twisting out, reversing their roles withing seconds.

Success.

“Well, Captain, now I have you right where I want you, on the plank of your own ship.

You’ve lost, sir. The lost boys are free and the alligator has drawn close at hand.” Mycroft took a step towards Sherlock, who seemed dumb-founded. “And now, Captain Holmes, witness this, for your doom is now at-”

Movement in the lobby, strains of their mother and father’s voices growing closer. 

“Quick! Sherlock! Get the dress back into the closet!”

Sherlock grabbed the Peter Pan dress, ran across the drawing room and exited in the direction of the west wing. Mycroft grabbed the rapier and ran across the room to where Father’s swords were mounted on the wall. He could hear his parent’s voices getting closer through the house, and ran to the master bedroom where he found Sherlock struggling to hang up the dress.

“Quick! Get back to the drawing room!” Mycroft pushed the dress into the closet and pulled Sherlock back across the house and back into the drawing room where he jumped onto the lounge, grabbing the closest textbook, not even noticing that it was upside down. he glanced down at Sherlock as his parents walked into the room, and grimaced at the fact that the ridiculous feathered hat was still on the boy’s head.

His parents looked lovely as usual, the austere London gentry that lived of their older family’s successes so their children never had to live in hunger, something that Sherlock like to point out might have helped Mycroft as he was growing up.

“Did you boys behave today?” Mum fixed Mycroft with her patented Holmes-glare. “Mycroft, you have exams coming up, have you been studying for them today? You can’t follow your father into government with poor grades.

“Of course, Mum.”

Mrs. Holmes moved on to her younger son.

“Sherlock, take that ridiculous thing off your head.”

“I’m not Sherlock anymore. My name is Captain Holmes, mother.” Sherlock gave his mother that smirk, the one that Mycroft was sure would break hearts when he hit puberty in eight years. 

“Really? My son, the respectable pirate.”

The only response of any kind the boys received was a nod, as their parents exited the drawing room. 

Sherlock kept composure until they were clear before breaking out in laughter, rolling on the floor, until he calmed down, little giggles coming in between his heavy breathing.

“Oh gosh Mycroft, look at us. I’m going to be a respectable pirate and you’ll end up being a fat bureaucrat like Father, bleugh.”

And now, twenty-five years in the future, Mycroft stands over an empty coffin and remembers. His brother was right about so many things, and this was no different. However, if there was one thing about his brother, he lived his dream, or as close as he could in the 21st century. In life and death, he was always Sherlock Holmes: the respectable pirate.


End file.
